


The House

by Jerihu_Scribe



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:49:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5012317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerihu_Scribe/pseuds/Jerihu_Scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The House

I’m trying to pray the pain away but the silence in this place is still so loud, much too loud for even my screams to drown out. The potent taste of bitter abandonment stinging my taste buds and the sour scent of emptiness that fills my lungs, are proof that I am breathing, yet still, no life, nor a reason for living such, can any longer be found here. This once vibrant and joyous palace now remains as a desolate, decrepit, and dismal reminder of the days in which my heart was illuminated by your youthful radiance and innocence.

These hallways, which were once majestic and filled with your budding life and laughter, are now void of the meaning they once held. The long since faded boarders hang off of the walls in ragged tears and shreds, revealing gaping holes and empty spaces, much like those that now remain in me.

This living room and this dining area, which together were the settings for so many jubilant nights, now only provide a home for the infestation of spiders, and the growth of mold. Dull, dusty, and moth ridden fabrics drooped over tables and chairs, and the remnants of shattered and stained plates and eatery are the only evidence that life, either yours or mine, was ever even present. They are now only a reminder of an endless hunger for a life that will no longer be.

These windows have been sealed shut and covered in black paint since the day my light was stolen from me, just as such I have now stolen the light from this shelter we used to call “Home”. The chilling air is a testament to my anger, my frustration, and my deeply rooted sorrow.

This staircase was once grand and polished. I still remember the first day I carried you up to your room. With every step, your cries were calmed as if you knew you were home. But alas, you are not here anymore, and these stairs, now gray and splintered, only grant shelter to termites.

This bedroom, your bedroom, will forever haunt me. This room, now empty aside from several boxes and hefty bags stuffed with your belongings, holds memories of the past and now abandoned hopes for a future that will never come.  

In this cold, sour, and empty silence, I am still tormented by the sounds of your echoing laughter and the pitter-patter of footsteps that were much smaller, yet much more significant than my own. I will never again hear those steps shadowing me. Never again will I feel the warm touch of your 5 fingers gripping only one of my own when you finally caught up to me. The house is no longer a palace, nor is it a haven. It is a crypt filled with fallen memories of a broken future. 


End file.
